


"Cargos please.  26"-28".  Cream if you got 'em"

by Ntjnke



Category: The Colbert Report, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
Genre: Don't read this if RPF squicks you, M/M, RPF is still FICTION, This is RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2030052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ntjnke/pseuds/Ntjnke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon Stewart has never liked the shape of his butt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Cargos please.  26"-28".  Cream if you got 'em"

**Author's Note:**

> Wifeless AU. Completed unbeta'd. Please let me know about any typos. For [](http://chatananas.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://chatananas.livejournal.com/)**chatananas** , whose wonderful idea encouraged me to 1) Attempt to write something quickly (which scares the crap out of me) and 2) Write more porn. :D

**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

 

 

"Cargos please. 26"-28". Cream if you got 'em"

 

Little Jonny Leibowitz turned sideways in front of his bedroom mirror, anxious to catch a glimpse of himself, but more anxious that his big brother would barge in and catch him naked. Last year, Larry had seen Jonny changing for a Little League game and made fun of his y-fronts for months. He couldn't imagine what his brother would do if he saw him _naked_.

But he had to be naked! He'd tried standing in front of the mirror and pulling his pants down, but he was too little and could only see himself from the chest up. When he'd tried to loosen his pants and jump, they'd fallen off as soon as he'd gotten airborne and that hadn't helped anything. In the end he'd settled for borrowing the chair from his mom's makeup table, stripping down completely, and standing on its cushy surface in order to get a good look at himself.

Cynthia Baker was right. He did have a funny butt.

It stuck out right from his waist and made a weird C shape between his hips and his thighs.

Despondent, Jonny climbed down from the chair and started to put his t-shirt back on. He did have a "bubble-butt", just like Cindy said

But that was okay. He might know, and stupid Cindy Baker might know, but nobody would have else would have to.

Sneaking into Larry's room, Jonny dug out a pair of his big brothers old sweatpants. He had to fold them over three times to keep them from falling down.

Girls were stupid anyway.

******

"Jonathan Leibowitz!" Cringing, Jon stopped dead in his tracks before turning to face his mom. Her hair still in a net, only one eye ringed in liner, Marian Leibowitz stood in front of him with a laundry basket balanced on her left hip and a bright red fingernail pointing at him.

"Young man, I do not care what is _cool_ or _awesome_ to your friends. You will not leave this house looking like a hooligan and a charity case! Go upstairs right now and put on a decent shirt. "

Grumbling, Jon trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. No one said 'No.' to Marian Leibowitz in her own house. Not if they knew what was good for them and they wanted to live.

But she didn't understand! She didn't know what he'd have to put up with when he left the house, and really what was the problem with wearing an x-large t-shirt to school anyway? It's not like he was going to do anything but sit at some stupid desk and fall asleep.

Despite every effort to pull his shirt down over his jeans, they started giggling as soon as he entered homeroom. The stupid bints thought he couldn't see, but he saw _them_ pointing their fingers and giggling while they covered their mouths with the palms of their hands.

But in class they hadn't dared do anything. Not after he'd thrown such a fit last week.

He made it all the way to 5th period. He'd worn his windbreaker all day, worn his bookbag in the hallways, and thought he was safe. But it was time for soccer practice, and, unthinking, he'd slung off his bag and jacket in order to shove everything in his locker.

Pinching _hurt_.

"Nice ass, Jonny. Glad you felt the need to show it off today." Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Deloris Melborne sauntered towards the ecstatic giggles of her cheerleader friends.

Grabbing his soccer jersey and throwing it on over his too-small, appropriately-sized t-shirt, Jon cursed.

Girls were stupid anyway.

*****

"Who wears short shorts?"

"Jon wears short shorts!"

Zipping up his gym bag, Jon glared at his teammates. In general they were a nice bunch of guys, and without them his freshman year at William and Mary would have been hell.

But their sense of humor was juvenile and asinine and…fuck, who was he kidding. He just wanted them to shut up.

"Who saw those pictures Rebecca took of the last game?" Justin Taylor, captain of the soccer team, stood on a locker room bench and egged on the guys. "It was like 19 shots of Jon's ass! Rebecca Montebello, Leibowitz Ass Specialist. Licensing and PR!"

Despite his attempts to exit the locker room, his teammates kept up their game and wouldn't let him leave without doing a shimmy. Because "it built character".

Stupid Justin submitted one of Rebecca's shots to the yearbook, and it got accepted. At graduation, the entire team signed it and convinced Lauren, the only girl he'd really liked, to leave a big, red lipstick mark on his picture. Correction: On his _ass_.

Guys were idiots. Especially guys who played sports.

*****

"Oh, c'mon Jon. It's all in good fun. Just one piccie!" John Oliver swayed a little too far to the left and overcorrected by falling against the wall next to Jon's head. His beer sloshed and formed a puddle in Jon's lap, but apparently John was too drunk to notice that.

"It's just one picture, Jon. We've got proof. You've done it before." Acting conspiratorial, even though he was far too wasted to pull it off, John leaned in and tried to whisper in his boss's ear. "One quick one. It'll make Sam's day."

"I said _no_ , John. And really? _Baby Got Back_?""

"Cause your waist is small and your curves are kickin'!"

"No. No way in hell. G'night John. Enjoy the hangover."

Jon pushed himself up out of the folding chair he'd claimed over an hour ago, and set his baseball cap on his head, ready to say his goodbyes at the party. Things had moved from "party" to "raunch fest" anyway, and that was usually his sign that it was time for him to leave.

A light tap on his shoulder made him turn.

Empty air made him turn the other direction and punch Stephen in the shoulder.

"Not my fault you still fall for the oldest trick in the book." Smiling, Stephen slung an arm around Jon's shoulders. "You being an old man and leaving already?"

"I _am_ an old man. And no self-respecting, legalized citizen of the United States would sit here and watch John grind on Jason anyway." He could tell Stephen had taken the bait and looked, so he didn't really mind when he got his own revenge punch.

"Walk you home?"

"Um, I was gonna drive."

"Sit in the passenger seat and play with the radio?"

"Sure."

With a nod, Stephen drained his glass and tightened the arm he had around Jon. "First, let me say goodbye to a few people."

*****

Three hours later, they were finally in the blessed silence of Jon's living room and Stephen was staring at Jon with an unflattering mixture of disbelief, confusion, and delight on his face. " _No_. You're kidding me."

"No, I’m not. I don't like it. I never have."

"That's stupid."

"So's having _your_ suits tailored to hide your hips, but you don't hear me talking about that." Seeing the acquiescence in Stephen's face, Jon got up from the couch. "Want another beer? Or are you heading out?" Ten years around Stephen made Jon perfectly comfortable in his presence. He didn't wait for a response as he padded toward the kitchen.

"I _like_ your ass."

Jon's bottle hit the kitchen floor.

Kneeling, Stephen smirked and braced his hands on the sofa's back cushions. His smirk became a snicker as he watched his best friend scramble to prevent sudsy yeast from spreading all over the floor.

"What? Stephen-"

"I. Like. Your. Ass."

"You're drunk."

"It's like a peach, and if I'd known you were this self-conscious about it, I would have squeezed it properly a decade ago."

"Uh, no thank you." Jon swiped at the mess pooling near the sink. "I've done that. It was called Junior High."

"You don't think I'm serious?"

" _No_. I think you're drunk. I should put on a tape recorder so you can hear this shit in the morning." Tipping the remains of his Sam Adam's into the trash bin, Jon threw the soggy paper towel mitt he'd made at Stephen. "You're drunk and you're _gross_."

"Betcha."

"What?"

"Betcha 'bout a dollar you work best under pressure."

"What?!"

Climbing over the back of the couch, Stephen sauntered into the kitchen and stood about six inches from Jon. He stuck one pointed index finger into Jon's chest, watching as it indented the wrinkled fabric of Jon's t-shirt.

"I. Bet You. That I can change your mind."

Jon snorted and slapped Stephen's hand away. "It wasn't a plea for therapy, Stephen. I was just saying I was sick of people commenting on it."

"Have sex with me."

This time the bottle not only shattered on the kitchen floor, but Jon, in his shock, inhaled a bit of his beer.

 _Violent coughing_ , Jon thought as he reached for another wad of paper towels, _is not sexy_.

"You okay there, bud?"

"Fuck off."

"Jerk off."

"Stop it."

"I _promise_ I will."

"Stephen!"

"Say it louder, baby."

Giving up, Jon pushed passed his best friend towards the bathroom.

*****

_Thank god I bought the solid wood._

At any other time, Jon would have questioned the randomness of his thoughts, but at the moment he was too busy preventing his hands from sliding every which way across the sheets. The bed was rocking in time with Stephen's thrusts and the headboard, his poor headboard, had been relegated to keeping time for the neighbors. Stephen, he was finding, was an enthusiastic lover.

"Godammit Jon, but you have a sweet ass." Stephen groaned and Jon's toes curled at the sound. "You're so tight." One large hand came down quickly and slapped Jon's left ass cheek. "Ass up, Jon." Stephen's hips changed their angle but kept on unrelentingly. "Bounce for me, baby."

He couldn't help it. He giggled.

"You think that's funny, Stewart?" Stephen flipped Jon onto his back and hauled Jon's legs over his shoulders. "Try to keep up."

*****

He was tired. They both were tired. But it was impossible to deny the craving for one more run of his hand down Stephen's back.

Jon kissed one sweaty shoulder and ran a lingering hand from the curve of Stephen's waist to the swell of his hip. Sweat had pooled in the dip of Stephen's back, and, sentimentally, Jon let his fingers explore. In between little caresses, the tips of his fingers dotted tiny kisses over every inch of Stephen's skin he could reach. Only when damp hair fell into Stephen's eyes did Jon let his hands do something as practical as pushing it back.

Catching one hand, Stephen kissed the center of Jon's palm and then the middle of Jon's chest, nipping at the skin. His breaths were coming in soft pants. Each exhalation was warm and rustled Jon's chest hair.

Wrapping his legs around Stephen's hips, Jon urged his lover just a little deeper and whimpered at the sensation of fullness and visceral pleasure. Tilting his hips, he tried to see what would happen if he tightened just _there_. Stephen's moan brought a slow smile to his face, and he pressed his hips tighter into the slick haven he'd created between their bodies.

It wasn't the first time for the two of them, the night was almost fading into dawn, but when Jon came he still wrapped his arms around Stephen's shoulders and pressed his face in to the crook of his neck. He cried out softly as Stephen's hips quickened, and when he felt the body on top of him relax, Jon kissed Stephen's cheek and chuckled softly into the skin behind his ear.

"Had enough yet?"

Languidly, Stephen sat back on his heels and placed both hands on Jon's waist. His eyes fixated on Jon's body, Stephen ran his hands from his waist to his hips, before finally moving them under Jon's body to cup his ass.

"Hell no."

******

Jon Stewart turned sideways in front of his bedroom mirror, one part of his mind inspecting the image the reflective glass was showing him while the other listened to make sure Stephen was still in the kitchen making breakfast. When they had woken that morning, Stephen had kissed him and promised pancakes if Jon would wake up enough for another tumble.

In twelve hours, a single night, his best friend had changed the opinion Jon had had of his body for …damn near forty years.

"Jon? You want eggs with your pancakes?"

"Make whatever you want to eat, babe. I'm not picky." Hearing the sounds of cooking recommence, Jon stood on his toes to see his entire profile.

It wasn't too bad.

*****

The only thing Jon hated more than thinking about clothes was shopping for clothes. He always wore the same thing, yet no store ever seemed to carry what he wanted. Or if they did, a decent pair of pants and a few t-shirts ended up costing him more than any sane person was willing to pay.

"Excuse me, sir. Can I help you find anything?" An attentive woman, tall compared to him, stood to his right with a set of shirts on hangers over her arm.

"Um. Yeah. Pants? 32"-28" if you've got 'em."

"Cargos? Jeans? Trousers?"

"Carg—Um, how about some trousers? A bit loose, but some something I could wear to work?"

Efficiently, the woman turned toward what Jon guessed was a subdepartment in the mega-store. He trotted quickly after her. He didn't want to get lost.


End file.
